


Of Shirogane Tsumugi

by cuckichi-ouma (cuckichiouma)



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21580069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuckichiouma/pseuds/cuckichi-ouma
Kudos: 7





	Of Shirogane Tsumugi

The handle rattled as she pried it open, much to her dismay. Hearing it echo through the dark hallway tensed her muscles and shook her hands. Gripping the newly unlocked knob like a lifeline, she creaked open the door agonizingly slowly. A dense weight sat around her shoulders, muddling her vision and clogging her throat. Did the musty smell seeping into her very pores perpetuate from he burden, or was it simply the mold growing in each crevice of the damp room? She might’ve shivered.

Cautiously planting a single foot in the room emitted a horrendous groan from the floorboards beneath. The grip on her shoulders tightened, long manicured talons digging into her shoulder blades. She let out a sigh of relief as she was steered sideways, making contact with a what she now well knew to be a wall. Her sentry’s grin burned into her back. She shivered with delight. Clasping one hand around the corner of the wall, she took slow steps forward until cold glass pressed against her palm, the only thing blocking her path. Between her and fulfillment.

Her smile widened with that of the girl beside her.

Slowly, painfully slowly, she navigated through the ink until she felt a ridge beneath her fingertips. She gripped it and pulled, positively burning as the pane slid off. She delicately propped it against the wall. Her companion crooned into her ear, leaving her hair standing on end and skin rigid with goosebumps. Hands shaking, she reached into the display case. There it was, right where she’d precisely deposited it.

She could almost see the bottle she held, despite the pitch surrounding her. Whispers of sweetness only she could comprehend enveloped her in a haze, sweeping her back to the door from which she’d entered. The tight dig around her shoulders loosened, washing her over with a disappointment she didn’t understand. The last fleeting scraps of uncertainty were whisked away by the cool feel of the glass bottle in her hand. Nails dragged along her cheek.

She was a safe distance from the room she’d disturbed, she felt, and so popped the cap off her bottle. An overpowering aroma wafted over her, the rough smell of alcohol burning her nose and throat. A smile tugged at her lips. Slowly but surely, perhaps in a sweet daze, the contents of the bottle poured over her. Hands ghosted over her waist, her arms, her calves, coming away with a faint sheen of alcohol. In better lighting, they might’ve glistened.

Nobody could know who pulled out the matchbox. She surely would’ve denied her own hands reaching into her coat pocket and sliding out the thin box. She swore she felt the nails, gliding over the container and caressing her trembling hand. But it was an undeniable fact that Shirogane lit the match herself, brushing it over her lapel down to the pocket from which it was grabbed.

Enoshima sneered.


End file.
